


Gunpowder eyes

by huffspuffsblows



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffspuffsblows/pseuds/huffspuffsblows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this—<br/>swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood<br/>on the first four knuckles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gunpowder eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deuil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deuil/gifts).



> ** this is supposed to be italics dialog/supposed to be French. smoopy smoopy

They’ve switched off again. It’s a quiet affair, just the three of them, four if you count the blubbering mess that is Zenigata with grass stains on his trousers, fingers clasped over and over against the engraved stone, as if to make sure it’s not some typo—Goemon picked a nice one, this time. It’s one of those Grecian Urn half caskets, the inside’s got satin trim, the knobs and ends are tailored with gold and silver, the rosewood gleams beneath the sun. Not so fitting for a depressing event. But at least it’s not raining.  
[Every time Fujiko takes a turn she splurges. He hasn’t quite figured out if it’s because she wants him to have the lap of luxury in the afterlife or because she’s siphoned from his funds…]

[Jigen always gets the cheapest—something embarrassing to crow over later, elbows jabbed into his side and a smirk as if to say _that’s what you get for doing this again_ , and _next time I’ll bury you in cardboard’ like he doesn’t believe it each time]_

Fujiko’s casual as casual can be about it, and he knows it’s only because she’s trying to keep it together for the kids [the guys], her own hurt and concern boiled on the surface, not to mention the confidence in his skills. She hasn’t removed her headset from one jewel encrusted earring since the festivities began, exchanges sharp retorts to a bookie, no doubt. Goemon’s solemn, as expected, hands folded in large hakama sleeves, Zantetsu secured at his waist. Jigen’s hat sits low over his face, obscuring all except the resigned set of his shoulders, either a _time and time again_ or a _what is this now_. The service is simple, nice, accented by Zenigata’s sobs and the soft sounds of Fujiko’s voice which carry over to his vantage point. 

“And may he rest in peace this time. Again. Amen.” With the final proclamation from the priest they’ve booked since the very first incident, the party dissolves. [Lupin’s pretty sure the guy’s stopped keeping count and the prayers have grown more and more fervent] Goemon and Fujiko go their ways [Goemon with a final nod and Fujiko, fingertips flinch on his name, it’s too cold--], and Jigen and Zenigata go their own. His little merry party sit around for the wait because surely, _surely_ he’ll be right around the corner, yelling, _Honey, I’m home! Give us a kiss,_ any day now. 

Five days go by. A week. Two. Each of Zenigata’s _I was just in the neighborhood to make sure you’re not up to something_ s grow more and more half hearted and half _broken_ until the next time he shows up he’s got scotch and a trio of dirty shot glasses [which Goemon turns his nose up at for all of twenty minutes], breath already reeks like he’s funneled booze straight down his gullet and into his kidneys , and with glassy eyes proclaims Lupin _gone_. They all turn away, uncomfortable, and ignore the way his voice cracks like shards of ice, giving and giving away to the reality of a frigid truth. 

At two and a half weeks, the stray cat that is Fujiko Mine goes against the tide, the phase of the moon. She stops wandering off into the night. She stays. Her shoulders seem to dispel a sigh, be it when she’s huddled over a fashion magazine [the stack piled to high heaven with ashtrays, full to the brim, teetering at the top], or when long manicured nails snap a bracelet into place around a delicate, kissable pulse point. She’s even stopped complaining about the boys separating their laundry from her delicates. 

Goemon’s reaction is probably the scariest—the bastard gets _sentimental_. Talks of the good old days, of running with the outline of Lupin’s back in his sight, always, of The Soba Incident and how it was actually funny now that Lupin’s _gone_ [he’d sulked for three weeks when it _wasn’t_ funny]—Until Jigen pushes himself up from a slump against the table, chair scraping the floorboards, and storms off without a backwards glance, dwindling bottle of Jack clutched tightly in one shaking hand.  
Only when his door slams shut does Goemon slump forward, face in his hands, tremors claiming the ramrod of broad shoulders. [Lupin feels nothing of jealousy when Fujiko joins him at the table, her chin gains support from the crown of Goemon’s hair. His chest is--] 

Lupin’s always been at his best running or scheming or from [trying to] score. He’s just as good at being a voyeur, dontcha know. That grandpa who scoffs over a chess piece, lays down a twenty with pruney fingers when he loses, an accidental elbow lashing out to topple the board. A brunette at the bar drops three ice cubes into a mostly clean glass, fingers linger when Jigen snatches the drink, tosses it back, Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes squeezed shut against Knowing and Not Knowing. He doesn’t give her a single look, leaves a too generous tip like he’s forgotten how much the bill was, like he didn’t care after he wobbles home. When Goemon joins the festivities, it’s never to coerce him to come home. He’ll sit, nursing cup after cup of sake, posture loosening every time his lips part over glass. It doesn’t take Fujiko long to track down her boys, and she knocks ‘em back in a way that makes Lupin’s [still beating, probably] heart sing. She’s the life of the party, paints on a jovial canvas, oozes wicked play and puts her hands on their arms, she runs soft palms up and down, up and down, up and down. But it’s _her_ they have to carry back, face flushed and her makeup runs, an arm around their shoulders, nails dug into a dark suit and a pale hakama each and— 

[“He’s gone, _he’s gone_ , he’s really gone, I never got to tell him…! Do you think he knew? Well, _do you_?”] 

[his heart shudders, useless in his chest] 

[he knows] 

For one of the very first times, he’s two steps behind. He sheds disguises as easily as silk, as easily as a snake’s husk [he is a husk, lately], behind the _clopclop_ of Goemon’s sandals or tarries behind the ruffle from the hem of Fujiko’s skirts as she brushes by him, honey eyes on the next prize, spring gone from her step. The whisper of softer-than-you’ll-ever-know-bastard raven locks brushing against the back of a Gucci suit jacket when Jigen all but collapses into the back of his rickety chair as he sits in a café, strong coffee not enough to stave off this constant hangover or the matching glares of disapproval and pity [like ash in Jigen’s mouth] his companions level at him. 

[Lupin knows Fujiko curls up in his jacket every night, nose pressed to the collar for his scent, occasionally drawn into annoyance when she finds yet _another_ stash hidden there] 

[he knows about how Goemon carved, with steadier hands than he’d felt, a careful hole into the top of one of the last bullets he’d made, twined a chain through it and now it’s safe and sound around his neck where it rocks every time he moves, danger, danger, high voltage--] 

[He and Jigen probably, definitely, absolutely share pretty much everything including boxers at this point, there’s very little Lupin has that isn’t his, too—but who is he, a dead man, to protest the pale sliver of one of his ties dangling from one pocket, wrapped around Jigen’s fist.] 

A month goes by with no word. Packages labeled ‘From Zenigata’, of nonessential things no one would miss or guess, are dropped off every few days on their doorstep. He’s left for dead. 

When he goes back, he can scream _it was all about the Lupin family pride!_ or _I saved you lot the trouble—have a nice vacation?_ and even _You’ll never guess what kinda jewel encrusted jet pack I got us by playing dead~ Go ahead, thank me._

[But he’s so very tired, his heart is so very heavy, he’s tired of eating sandwiches from the convenience store with the crusty mayo, he’s worried they’ll find out he was going to go back a week ago but he chickened out, his waitress yesterday had a perfume Fujiko had been wearing lately and the second he got a whiff his eyes got misty--] 

But everything always feels right when you come home again. He picks a day Goemon doesn’t try, and fail, to go out and gain the mental clarity of a cool waterfall, or when Fujiko chooses to go into the city to shop, and when Jigen’s holed himself up as he has the last week and a half—  
“Babies, daddy’s home!” Kicking the door open and shouting into a room of trained and grieving thieves probably isn’t the best idea. The frigid press of steel against his chin makes him wonder if he should have shaved, too. Do they not recognize the handsome face beneath the start of a beard? The cute ears within froppy hair? 

Jigen hangs back while the other two flitter around him like birds. Beautiful, grumpy, naggy birds. 

_"Lupin_! Is that really you? What the hell happened?!" 

"Prove you aren’t an impostor, wretch, or fall by my sword faster than you can blink those big bulging eyes.” 

The proof is something majestic, like a fact he knows about each of them, embarrassing facts, and not at all because he pulled his pants down in a flurry of offense and excitement, displaying the tell-tale scar on his asscheek for them all to see.  
  
Fujiko finally, _finally_ softens and takes him in her arms, alternates between smacking him and pinching him and hollering, and burying her face in his collar [his heart sinks and soars as one when hot tears gather within the fabric, will he ever wash this again??]. Goemon won’t allow himself to be so choked up, but he does squeeze Lupin’s shoulder so hard he can feel the ruts and grooves of the bones in his fingers, bites his lip and clears his throat, eyes shiny. 

And Jigen? Lupin approaches his silent partner in crime, arms outstretched to match the grin across his mouth—“Hey, man! You’ll never guess what I found when I was gone…didja miss my cute face? So it--“ 

The crack of knuckles slamming into his nose shouldn’t have been a surprise but it still knocked the wind out of him while he was knocked on his ass. Fujiko didn’t even spare him a gasp, just looks at him with knowing eyes, a sigh on her lips. Jigen’s knuckles come away bloody and through the sting of (very manly) tears and a pain that makes him nauseous, he watches his friend retreat back into his room.  
It’s silent for all of five awkward beats before Fujiko pipes in, “You really stepped in it this time, Lupin.” Goemon grunts in agreement, shoulders raised higher than they have been the entire month. [same ol, same ol] 

That doesn’t make Lupin feel any better, and he says as much. “ _I looked where I was walking_! I mean, I’m the one with the broken nose here! He should be _thrilled_ to be back in my presence, he’s become a barbarian in my absence.” He sniffs, doesn’t like the way his voice is muffled and grainy. Blood trickles into the nooks and crannies of his teeth. 

Fujiko lays a gentle hand on his shoulder when he finally climbs to his feet, he turns to look at her, goofy adoration painted across his face as fit as the blood, but it’s steady, honey eyes filled with pity he gazes into. 

“It really hit him hard—“ 

“He hit _me_ hard! It’s broken! I need someone to mend me up, preferably in a little skirt—“ 

“Lupin, stop fucking around!” The rough curse from pretty pink lips, cheeks stained an angry pink, that’s what makes his throat close around his windpipe. The desperate fingers digging crescent moons into the skin even beneath the sleeves of his shirt. Goemon’s silence is too loud in this room. 

"You were _gone_ and we all knew you’d be back…or we thought you would be. But after two weeks we, we thought—but he stubbornly wouldn’t believe it, said it was too stupid of a way to go for a bozo like you…but day after day your stupid face didn’t show up and then finally even _he_ didn’t think…” Her mouth quivers and by the end of her explanation trails off, he reaches up to catch her cheek in his palm. 

“Hey,” he says gently, like the tightness in his chest will break if he raises his voice, “I’m sorry. You know I had my reasons, right? I’ll fix this.” 

Long, swan’s throat swallow. She leans into his hand for a moment, just a moment he locks up tight in his heart, until she gives him a resounding smack. 

“You’d better fix this! As uncouth as you lot are, no one’s as fun as you. You idiot.” Despite the vehemence, the heat, behind her words, she delicately cups the tip of his nose, cooing when he flinches and whines back.  
  
"Alright, let me fix you up now.” 

Lupin reluctantly pulls away, mouth downturned in a scowl. “No. Let that jerk clean up his own mess.” 

“Yes, coupling an angry Jigen with the broken bone of the one he’s furious at, in his unbridled, uncontrollable rage, is definitely a great idea. Why don’t you do that,” Goemon deadpans. Fujiko’s unimpressed look and the hand she cocks on one hip speaks volumes…when the hell did they team up so well? Was it that surfing vacation? He’s gonna have to put a stop to this. 

"Fine, you do it, Fujikcakes..but be gentle with me, okay? A guy can only take so much heartbreak in one day!” 

So without any crying or snot or Goemon holding him down, she gets it done. Even lets him rest his weary, not tear stained face in her lap, caresses his hair and the tops of his ears. He would even catch a few Z’s if his chest didn’t feel so raw and the closed door wasn’t the elephant in the room. 

Gentle humming stops when she catches him watching her instead of trying to unzip her pants with his teeth. “What is it?” 

He feels like his chest could burst from so many emotions right now. “You are _so_ beautiful.” 

Her palm abruptly shifts to cup his forehead, clearly checking for fever. The pause is a considerable one, in which Fujiko’s loss for words, not because of _his_ words—but the awe in his tone, the broken syllables at the end. 

She opens her mouth, then closes it. Traces the pad of her thumb across his cheek, under his bottom lip. There’s love in the depths of those honey brown eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. Did your eyesight go, along with your balls?” 

“Fujiiiikooooo! You’re spending too much time with Goemon, _has he rubbed off on you?! Which part? I’ll chop it off!_ ”  
That night he doesn’t sleep a wink. Goemon spends an hour glowering at him from the arm chair before he caves and tells him to _stop getting blood on the chair, that isn’t a war wound you should show off._ He doesn’t ask what they’ve been doing, but Fujiko speaks of the little things, the shoes she got with his money, the underwear she found under his bed. 

[“Did he say anything?”  
“Do you really think you deserve the answer to that one?”] 

She’s gone just like that, a promise to meet again really soon and a kiss to his forehead and the corner of his mouth upon her retreat. Maybe that’s what he was waiting for, because in the middle of the afternoon, Jigen’s door opens with a bang that reverberates throughout their hideout, and by the time his fingers wrap around his gun, Goemon’s already climbed to his feet, Zantetsu unsheathed a sliver. 

“Goemon, get out.” 

The world stutters in it’s spinning axis. 

“What?”  
  
"Get the fuck out. Now.” 

Goemon doesn’t need to be told a third time. Takes one look at the murder in the shadows of Jigen’s eyes and bails, muttering a soft prayer for Lupin’s ears only as he leaves.  
Jigen rushes to close the space between them with long strides and its all Lupin can do to back away, knees wobbling the slightest, sweat on his brow.  


“Look man, look, I know you’re mad you weren’t in on it, but I had my reasons! Just like you have your reasons for stuff, so there’s no need to feel left out—“  


“Shut the fuck up, you bastard.” And it’s not even the explosive anger he knows what to deal with, this is cold, chills him right to the spine and his advance isn’t hindered at all by the stack of magazines Lupin sweeps off the table and into his path, he’s got one mitt on Lupin, the other reeled back in another suckerpunch to the nose, but Lupin rolls into the motion, twists and brings his fist into the soft planes of Jigen’s belly— 

So that’s how they find themselves rolling around with blood in their mouths, hat gone, a discarded shoe digging into his back, and Jigen’s cursing up a storm, nonsense and tons of sense he’ll never admit to being right and, 

“I can’t fucking believe you! You’re the worst, you know that? I can’t _stand_ you, how could you do that? A _month_ I had to keep those three going, I told them you’d be fine, that you were probably stealing bikinis somewhere--- Zenigata puked on my _hat_! I kept telling them you’d be back, you always come back to us no matter what, but then you didn’t come back to me—“ [Jigen doesn't know why his chest feels like a raw slab of meat; he always knew it'd be inevitable some day-- joke's on him, every single goddamn time, and this time he'd really thought he'd have to swallow back that inevitable truth, come crashing into the waves too soon] 

It’s huffed in the rush between their mouths, in the rush between one second and the next, and Lupin’s retort, his guilt, his _I’m sorry_ s and _I know_ s are swallowed up by Jigen’s lips. This is more desperate than romantic, as if Jigen’s going to bite a chunk out of him, and when his lips sting he knows. But Lupin can’t bring himself to care, just shoves closer to grind his hips up and up _andupandup_ , fingers twined in downy black locks. Jigen presses a knee between his legs, eliciting a gasp he chases with his own mouth, and the only reason he’s not choking the life out of Lupin is because those trigger fingers have found purchase leaving bruises on his hips, holding him so close he can feel the hummingbird’s buzz of Jigen’s heart against his own chest, through the heat of their shirts and searing into his very bones. 

When Jigen opens him up it’s not with the slow curl of his fingers, and he misses his sweet spot on purpose again and again and again until Lupin shoves his hips _down_ , demanding, cursing a mean streak, cheeks red, more _how dare you think you could hide this from me_ when he gasps against his own forearm, turns his face away and hikes a knee into Jigen’s side; it’s to reacquaint them with what’s been missing for a whole goddamn month, because how dare he think he can live without this for a minute, a week, a month—And he can’t, he can’t and he doesn’t want to, but what he does know is what he wants is to flip them over and he does, knees clenched into Jigen’s sides, nimble fingers clasped on his shoulders. 

His spine bows and he dips his head to drag his tongue along the seam of Jigen’s lips, which open seasame with a _growl_ Lupin feels through his teeth. His breath is caught somewhere between his heart and his teeth when he finally sinks down onto Jigen’s cock, a moan pitched high when rough hands pull him down sharply, again and again until he’s squirming and when Jigen asks him if he’s listening all he can do is keen and push his hips down, the angle is breaking him slowly but surely and if Jigen does that thing with his fucking trigger finger against his cock one more goddamn time— 

His partner’s still furious, spine ablaze to match the heat in dark orbs. Lupin’s head swims and by the time they’re rushing to meet over the edge, he’s pretty sure the neighbors know exactly what’s happening in here but he doesn’t really give a single fuck, he’s too busy trying to catch the splinters of light that makes them one, teaming to meet each other and find their way home again, too busy catching the words on Jigen’s tongue. 

It’s all too much, heat slicks scorching hot between them, the furious push-pull, lightning crackles up his spine and when he finally comes his entire body locks down, unabashedly dragging Jigen, groaning and pulsing, into oblivion with him. 

Lupin doesn’t bother to climb off and roll over. His heart has moved stock into his rib cage by now, there’s the rattle of a wheeze in his lungs. Jigen’s eyes are closed, his chest heaves, heart thunders beneath Lupin’s fingers when the thief cups his chin, tilts his head and kisses each corner of his mouth. Dark eyes peer at him, now, steady and considering. They continue like this, the soft, wet sounds of kisses to cheeks and a hooked nose, long eyelashes flutter beneath Lupin’s lips, an ear is warm under the attention of his tongue— 

“Lupin, hey—“ 

__**“I missed you, I’m sorry, next time, next time I’ll send you a smoke signal."__

Jigen's eyes widen, and though he doesn’t know a lick of French, they soften. Fond and sure and exasperated and satisfied. (For now) His hat can't be far now, the most fond part of the man's soul won't be separated for long. 

He rolls Lupin over, mouths complaints on the hardwood floor torturing his boney ass, and the rest is history. 

At least until the morning sun peeks through the blinds, reminding them of their current position in full view in the living room. Jigen awakens to kisses trailed across his knuckles and a fucked out voice like gravel and smoke, 

___**“My knight, my cowboy, I longed for you, I longed for you, I longed for you.”_ __

Jigen knows not only that he’s flushed all over but also Lupin knows he’s awake judging by the huff of a laugh that fans out across his fingers. 

“Corny.” 

“Just one letter away from horny~” 

"I see you didn’t get any better one liners in the afterlife.” 

“Nah, I got so bored I climbed right out of hell just to come see you.” 

“….Shut up. Anyway, fancy we should get moving? Goemon’s going to show up any time now demanding soba.” 

"Only if you carry me.” 

“Carr- _You should be carrying me, what do you think that did to my back?!”_

“I’m not the one that couldn’t wait to get his big manly arms around me.” 

“The Devil can have you back.” 

“Nope, no take backs. Carry me, carry me~”  
“Carry yourself. Let Goemon see your naked ass for all I care, he’s seen worse." 

“You really want him to see me covered in your cum?” 

[That earns him a smack but he’s dragged in a fireman’s carry, most undignified, to bed, to sleep it off] 

[There’s a familiar, jovial and booming scream of _LUUUUUPIIIIIINNNN! YOU’RE ALIVE! I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT IN MY BONES_ about twenty minutes later from two streets down.] 

[The note on the fridge, in familiar cursive, reads: Dear boys, I may have hinted at a new game for ol’ Pops. The pearls will look great dangling around my cleavage, please and thanks!  
P.S I told him your room number. Sorry, lover, all’s fair in love and loot  <3] 


End file.
